


Heaven Bent to Take My Hand

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:11:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's the bitter taste of losing everything that I've held so dear."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven Bent to Take My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2009.

As Andrea Sachs piled various newspapers and periodicals on the cold glass desk of her boss, she gave a peculiar once-over to the woman sitting limply against the leather chair. A large departure from her general rigid posture and scrutinizing glare, Miranda Priestly's entire disposition mirrored that of a woman carrying the weight of unspeakable sadness. Andy's eyes flickered up towards Miranda's. Her blue eyes, usually brimming with emotion, were vacant.

Lost.

"Is there anything I can do?" Andy asked softly, her breath hitching painfully in her chest as Miranda appeared for several seconds not to hear her. As Andy contemplated repeating herself or simply walking back to her desk, Miranda looked at her and, after propping her elbow on the arm of her chair and resting her chin against her fist, shook her head. She looked away.

Andrea walked back towards her desk, easing her weight on the balls of her feet to make as little noise as possible. It was difficult in four inch Jimmy Choos, but she managed. Sitting in front of her computer, she shot an inquisitive glance at Emily. Moments later, an email from the redhead appeared in her inbox. She double-clicked the document.

_Anniversary of her father's death. Stay out of her way._

Emotion swelled in Andy's throat like a painful lump. She couldn't imagine how it felt to be in a position of such great loss - she had never experienced it, not firsthand anyway. Knowing that such a strong, poised woman was drowning in her sorrow made her feel as though she were interloping on a private moment.

The day passed incredibly slowly. It was generally known throughout the office to avoid Miranda at all costs. The entire ordeal was incredibly barbaric to Andy. Why tip-toe around Miranda and pretend that this personal tragedy hadn't happened? What if, despite the woman's coldness towards companionship, what the woman needed was someone to reach out?

What if she didn't want to be alone, and was too proud to ask? 

She remembered Emily's warning.

She considered it.

And promptly ignored it.

After nearly an hour of clicking and researching on her computer as stealthily as possible, she stared at the clock. The end of the work day was drawing near and Andy knew, assuming she knew Miranda as well as she thought she did, that the editor would bolt out the door as soon as she was released of her obligations to the magazine. Andy was surprised that she hadn't left early; if Andy had been in her position, she surmised that she'd probably be laying in her pajamas on her couch, eating Ben & Jerry's and crying until she fell into a fitful sleep. But, then again, Miranda was nothing like Andy.

At quarter past four, Andy was crawling out of her skin. She was about the check the status of her order when a delivery girl stalked into the office, holding a wide vase with a single branch of white and purple Phalaenopsis orchids. Andy grinned; they were perfect.

"I have a delivery for Miranda Priestly," the delivery girl said, glancing between Emily and Andy.

Andy shot up, grabbing the pot. She stuffed a wad of bills into the girl's hand. "Thank you," she said, avoiding eye contact with Emily. As the girl took her leave, Andy held her breath as she entered Miranda's office.

The room felt chilly. Andy noted to herself that she should turn up the thermostat on her way out; Miranda may be grieving, but she didn't have to be cold while she did it.

Miranda's chair was facing the window. Andy chewed her bottom lip, unsure of whether or not to announce her presence. She stood at her desk, dumbly clutching the vase.

"Yes?" Miranda asked.

"Uh…you had a delivery."

The chair slowly swiveled around, Miranda's eyes peeking over the rims of her glasses. She placed a file on her desk and raised her eyebrows. "Who are they from?"

Rather than answer, Andy placed the vase on the desk.

Miranda knit her brows. "That's all." She reached forward and grabbed the card.

Andy slowly exited the office, stopping at her desk and making a show of organizing a stack of papers that were already in perfect order. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Miranda's eyes swept over the card for several long moments. The woman straightened a little in her chair and glanced at Andrea, her face blank.

Andy blushed furiously, smiled, and sat back at her desk. She remembered what she had asked to be written on the card: _"We are healed from suffering only by experiencing it to the full - Marcel Proust; I know you're going through a difficult time, but you don't have to be alone. I promise you - you're not. --AS"_

She tapped her foot, hoping she hadn't overstepped her bounds. She didn't have to wait long; several minutes later, Miranda appeared, clutching the orchid to her chest.

"Coat."

Andy jumped to her feet and grabbed Miranda's coat. As she helped Miranda slip her arms into the suede jacket, Miranda turned her head. In a soft voice no louder than a whisper, Miranda said, "Thank you."

Andy squeezed Miranda's shoulder, and then she was gone.

\---


End file.
